Soul Mates
by Phayzer
Summary: How do two 'exorcists', an egotistical demon and a soulless guy work together? Well, they don't. Not really.
1. Inevitable Collision

_Hellooo readers! Wow, you picked this out of the crowd! Awesome. Now you can be sorely disappointed._

**_*_****_Character key_****_:_**

**_Matthew_****_: _**_Canada_

**_Gilbert_****_: _**_Prussia_

**_Alfred_****_: _**_Duh_

**_Arthur_****_: _**_:P_

**_Lovino_****_: _**_Grumpy_

_I think that's it. There is a mention or two of _**_Greece_**_. See if you can find them._

_Enjoy._

_Or don't. I'm not the boss of you..._

_(Rated T for violence and corse language. Phayzer recommends readers enjoy visualising both.)_

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**_Soul Mates_**

_**CHAP 1**__: _

_Inevitable Collision_

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"I don't have a soul, that's why. A demon took it years ago."

Looking back, Mathew would probably think that he may have let that sentence, his secret, slip a little _too_ easily. But standing in a dusty alleyway drenched in what was supposedly 'Holy Water' was not the end to a long stroll around town he was hoping for, and needed, so he thought he had a pretty substantial excuse to not be thinking decently. The two men in front of him didn't seem to be as confused or shocked by the, what he thought was, sudden and, to others, impossible statement as he thought they would be. The one to his right was still smiling stupidly at him.

The somewhat inevitable collision of these three could be tracked back to about a month ago, when the first domino, if you will, was subtly flicked. Though Mathew could think of a mountain of things that were less subtly on the day...

"Oi, you," The always irritated owner of the popular diner quite rudely sounded, pointing to the blond lifting an empty chair in the middle of the equally empty diner. Matthew balanced the chair on it's table a little quicker after he realised he was being addressed. This wasn't an everyday occurrence, after all.

"Y-Yes sir?" He asked, standing to face Lovino, his boss for the last year. Lovino owned a few Italian diners, around both Canada and the United States titled 'Vargas', but he liked to stick to just being around one. Too much work managing them all, he would probably say, or grumble. Matthew rarely even saw the man around this one, though. Really, the guy just hates to work.

"Lock up for me, would you? I have other places to be right now." Lovino said, murmuring the last part as he suddenly chucked a key to Matthew, not waiting for the Canadian to answer yes or maybe. Matthew fumbled with the key in the air until it rested safely in his palm, a light, flustered blush from the awkward display on his face.

"O-Ok, sir, I can do that. No problem." But Lovino was already walking out the door with a sower look, disappearing behind a corner without so much as a 'bye', but that was to be expected by now.

Mathew continued to finish his work passively, wiping the tables scattered around the room, putting the smooth wood chairs up, sweeping the dark green, red, and white floor before moving to the bar stationed at the back of the room, moving around the small pillars like clockwork. He did this everyday after all, and most certainly wasn't in a hurry to get home.

_I might even take a nice walk after_, he thought pleasantly as he wiped down the counter, but dismissed the idea upon sighting the blackening clouds overhead threw the large, polished windows at the front of the building. The heavy looking sky promised rain very soon. It was getting late anyway.

With little more than a satisfied sigh, Matthew deemed the bar top clean with a last flick of his cloth, and was ready to prep himself for the trip back to his apartment. That was until the clean front doors were pushed rather roughly open, the small, sweet bell sounded the arrival of an unwelcome group a little too pleasantly.

Matthew had just finished putting his apron away, folded in his bag to be washed at home (there was cleaning to be done everywhere, apparently) when the sound hit his ears. He stupidly thought it was Lovino for a second, coming back to witness a job well done, but the short sight of a sturdy baseball bat quickly erased whatever thoughts of a pleasant visitor had flashed through his mind. The lone worker somewhat surprised himself at how instantly he ducked back out of sight behind the bar. Just quick enough, it seemed, as Matthew heard foot steps slightly squeak on the plaster floor, treading like they owned the place.

"What, no locks? I thought this place was popular..." Matthew heard a man speak, the steps shuffling around the room. There had to be about four pairs. The tone of voice that the man was using was normal enough, and Matthew's pounding heart slowed just a tad. They hadn't seen him, yet.

"And no one's here, this is perfect!" A louder woman contributed, and Matthew heard what could only be a bat hitting the floor echo off the vulnerable walls. His heart picked up again. This girl sounded rather close.

"U-Um, guys, we really shouldn't be here..." A whimpering voice tried to reason above the rest, Matthew could just hear him to the other side of the bar, near the register. The bar was stationed to the back of the diner, and curved up near the door so the few employees could quickly go from serving drinks to taking reservations and such. If these guys were going for the money, Matthew dreaded, then it will only be a matter of time till he's seen behind the counter...

"Oh, come on shortie," The oldest voice yet snorted, stalking closer to the one addressed, much to Matthew's panic. "There's no one here, the door's unlocked, and your standing right at the register. It's like a fucking gift. Just take that money, and where outa' here. Simple." Matthew would swear he could feel the younger one trembling.

"Maybe I should be look-out!" The boy's heals squeaked as he turned around as fast as he had said it. Matthew almost yelped himself when the bat hit the floor again.

"Don't chicken-out on us now, pip-squeak!" The woman ordered.

Matthew risked slowly putting his hand in the pocket of his red hoodie, and pulled out a hocky-stick covered flip-phone as quietly as he could.

"Just take the shit and lets go!"

"I'm almost sad there's no one here though," The first man spoke again, joining the group at the bar. "Would be fun to see their scared-shitless faces."

Matthew cursed the stiff buttons of his old phone in his mind, with each slight click of a button a small prayer and the acceleration of his heart. He could already feel the organ hurting his ribs.

This was not the day he was hoping for, on a long shot. These guys were going to kill him, he just knew it, and with a bat no less. That's going to hurt like a bitch! But he was cornered. All he could do was wait, and maybe call the only person he really knew. Maybe he could help? Come get him? Something! He just knew each click down his short list of contacts was a second closer to a bat in the face.

Another bat hitting a surface made Matthew jump, but the yelling after rendered the movement unnoticed.

"Just take the damn money kid! You were saying you were up to it before! Now prove it!" The woman yelled yet again. That girl needs anger management or something...

Matthew slowly put the phone to his ear. He made a silent promise to get a touch-screen phone if he got out of this ok.

"This really isn't what I meant..." The younger mumbled, and yelped when he was, what Matthew could deduce, pushed back to the register, closer to getting behind the counter, to Matthews quiet horror.

"Do it." The oldest man gave no room for argument.

_Darn, darn, darn, darn_! Mathew screamed internally, biting his lip as he listened to the beeping tone to his ear. His suddenly remembered how lazy this 'friend' he is calling can be, and silently promised he would hug the man if he could just drop that trait for one moment and _pick up the god damn phone!_

"_Ja? Awesome here_." Matthew let out the breath he didn't know he was holding as a sigh, one that become stifled when his hasty predicament was realised yet again.

"G-Gilbert." Matthew whispered, shielding his mouth and speaker in an attempt to make himself quieter. "I-I need help..."

"_Matt? Vis that you? Speak up, vI can't hear you_." Gilbert spoke way to casually for Matthew's liking, but knowing the man didn't in fact realise what he was going though yet, he spoke up never the less. Not like he had a choice.

"G-Gilbert I need your help." Matthew said a little louder, but rushed his words as he heard foot-steps coming closer with his spare ear, just over the bickering the criminals were doing amongst themselves. "I just finished work but I'm hiding under the bar and there are a bunch of robbers with bats coming closer and I think there going to kill me pleas I need help fast!" Matthew poured the long sentence out as fast as he could, with as much detailed as would be needed, while on the brink of hyperventilating.

He would have growled or yelled at the man's response if he wasn't so scared.

"_Kesesesesese_," He heard Gilbert hiss his laugh, not bothering to try and cover it up out of curtesy. "_Zounds like you're having an interesting day, v'aren't you_?" He chuckled. Matthew swallowed a sob.

"C-Can you come and get me?" He whimpered. He knew it was pathetic, but he really didn't care about what Gilbert would hold him to at the moment. He wanted to get out of the diner before worrying about the teasing.

It seemed like forever before Gilbert responded.

"_Of cores z'e awesome me can help your weak self!_"

Mathew tried to make himself smaller as he heard the buttons of the register being pressed. As soon at the group actually looked around, he would be spotted, and with there being _four people_ to do just that, it was only a matter of instant.

"_But I can't come get you._"

"W-What?" Mathew hissed, quieting down so much his chest hurt more. "Why?"

"_It'll take too long to get there by the z'ounds of it._" Was the calm answer, but before Matthew could insist he could wait a little longer (though he really couldn't) Gilbert went on to say, "_But I know what_you_can do_." Matthew felt a shiver run up his spine at the hint, and could just picture Gilbert's smile.

"N-No, Gilbert, p-pleas don't..." Matthew begged. He wasn't sure if he was once again too quiet to hear, or once again brushed off, but Gilbert went on anyway.

"_Matt, v'hy don't you go and scare the mean robbers av'ay with z'ome awesome violence_?" It wasn't a question, but only Matthew would be able to hear the undertone in Gilbert's voice, and it echoed in his head like his mind was an empty room, sticking to the back wall like paint left to dry.

"N-No, Gilbert I can't! You don't understand, they have bats!" But even as the tall blond reasoned against the 'question' he was given, he felt himself rising from the hiding spot he had clung to for life. He noticed his knees were shaking, matching his hands, but his body kept moving.

"_No buts Mattie_," Gilbert cooed, "_you know z'at_."

Matthew finally caught the eye of one of the criminals. They were all standing and leaning near the money-box of the room, the machine now open with half the money in a cream bag on the counter. The smallest was still putting the wads in with what looked to be a heavy heart. Unfortunately, the first to notice the blond with the glasses was the woman with the bat...

"What the fuck?"

"G-Gilbert..." Matthew squeaked one last time, standing dumbly on the other side of the counter from everyone but the kid piling the cash. The sudden speech laced with confusion of the girl got the attention of her friends, now all looking to the petrified Matthew.

"_Oh, before vI forget, could you pick up z'ome more bird seed? Gilbird just ate the last ov it. Thanks_!"

And with that, Mathew was left listening to the aftermath of every call, staring wide-eyed at confused faces and the bat that was sure to be acquainted with his face in due time.

"How long have you been there...?" A man adorning black hair asked, leaning on the table, with the voice Mathew had heard first. It was a genuine question, as normal as he had sounded when he first came in uninvited. Unfortunately, the only other that's face didn't turn into a sadistic smirk or angry scowl was the kid gripping the money. And Matthew himself, of course. He was still pissing his pants, gripping the phone he had once hoped would help him.

"Oh yeah~," The oldest of the room sneered with a smirk, punching a fist in his hand. The action would have made Matthew flinch or step back if his body would let him do so. Do anything except shake. "Finally, some fun." And he took the first step to his way around the bench. Again, Matthew didn't move. Only breathed.

The angry one was the red headed woman, sitting on the bar bench. Why she was angry with the only one that was _supposed_ to be in the room, Matthew didn't think to question.

The man coming closer must have noticed Matthew shaking as he advanced.

"Awwww, the 'widdle guy is scared," He cooed with a smile, actually earning a chuckle from the black-haired boy and a demeaning scoff form the girl. "Don't worry, we wont mess you up too bad." He poorly reassured, a few centimetres away from Matthew when he stopped. "If you give us all your shit." He was taller than Matthew, and about two times thicker...

Matthew didn't answer, didn't flinch. He did blink away tears though. He was NOT going to cry. Never would he do that in front of people, no matter how weak people say he is, or dire the situation.

Finally, he lowered his phone.

"Yeah, and what's this then?" Apparently the man saw the action as handing the phone over, or he just wanted to take it like everything else he obviously obtains. He reached for the phone.

This is called and bad move.

A fist was suddenly pressed to his torso, just under his ribs, forcing him to lean ford with a choked gasp, not expecting the blow. No one did, apparently.

"What the fuck!?" The woman said yet again, but this time raised the question with shock as she jumped from her perch to the floor.

"S-Sorry!" Matthew quickly apologized, and he really meant it. He didn't like hurting people at all, unless it was in video games and hockey that is.

"You're going to be!" The man before Matthew cried, trying to cover the slight choke in his voice. He grabbed and removed the arm in his stomach to send his own blow with his other block of a fist.

Matthew swiftly blocked, grabbing the larger fist with his own spare hand. The down side to this move was the fact that the Canadian was still holding his phone.

"My phone!" Matthew cried, the loudest he had been all day, as he watched half of it fall to the ground. He knew he should have gotten a Nokia. Gilbert was going to pay for that.

The man Matthew was unwillingly tangled with seemed to take the cry out as a small victory, but stopped smiling when Matthew started...growling. Fucking. Growling.

Matthew didn't want to. He didn't even know he could make that kind of noise. It was unlike any creature he had heard, but most definitely scarier than any predator of earth. The look on Matthews opponent confirmed it.

Maybe the guy had a point, it was kinda fun to see people scared-shitless.

Matthew used a furious head-butt as his final move, and could almost see the 'K.O!' sign above before the man twice his weight fell down.

"Sorry!"

"What the fuck!?" The red head cried her trade-mark yet again, and suddenly lifted her bat. She was still on the other side, but that wouldn't do much to stop her, and now she was ecstatically _furious_. With both hands on the end of the bat, holding tightly, this was going to be a home-run no doubt.

This was it. Matthew squeezed his eyes shut in brace.

But it wasn't the force of a wooden bat to the cheek that brought him down, nor the other man, still sitting on the table. What brought Matthew down was something that froze the woman in her stance, and made the seated boy tense with blue-eyes wide.

It was a bullet to the head, and Matthew collapsed like a sack of potatoes. The sound of the gun firing echoed even in the knocked-out man's unconscious dreams.

All was silent after Matthew hit the ground hard, sounding heavier than he should have. Slowly, eyes took to the shaking kid at the register, still griping the hand gun, letting it wobble in front of him with the widest eyes of them all.

"A-Adam..." The black haired teen spoke up warily, standing slower than Internet Explorer could load. "What did you just do...?" This question was abnormally scared.

Adam shook more.

"I-I-I panicked!" Adam cried, tears welling before quickly pouring over his eyes and snaking down his distressed face. "H-H-He-He was freaking me out!"

"Freaking you out?! So you kill him?!" The woman cried, "What the fuck!?"

"Shit Adam! If I knew you were so fucking trigger-happy I wouldn't have lent you the gun!" The man cried.

"I-I-I-I" Adam couldn't say much more, finally lowering the weapon.

"F-Forget the money!" The woman ordered, "Get Brian and lets get out of here!"

"Oh god, there's blood!" Adam squeaked, backing away from the two bodies despite his friend's order.

"Of course there's fucking blood! What the fuck did you expect when_shooting someone in the head_!?" The man walked around the bar instead, obviously having a stronger stomach than his hyperventilating friend. But he still averted his gaze as much as he could from the blood oozing it's way from the hole in Matthew's right temple to the ground as he dragged the unconscious Brian back.

"What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?!" Adam repeated to the brains of their group.

"We?! YOU'RE the one who MURDERED HIM!"

"No, I'm ok guys..."

The quiet groan sounded louder than a fire alarm to the three, and struck more fear than would have if the one talking just stayed dead. The trio, two older holding the one who couldn't walk for himself, all turned to the bar, where a shaky hand appeared to aid the rest of the body getting up. Soon the head could be seen, another hand pressed where to hole would be, then the torso.

Matthew tried to show a reassuring smile.

"See? I'm ok," He hissed in pain, countering his statement, but tried to bushed it off for the people in front of him. "Y-You didn't murder me or anything..."

They ran. They didn't even scream in horror, or shock. The red-head didn't even shout her trade-mark before bolting at a surprising speed out the door, the little bell sounding their leave into the darkening rain.

It was a bit awkward, standing once again alone in the restaurant, and Mathew honestly didn't know if he should feel hurt, annoyed, or relived at the sudden escape of Adam and his friends after he had tried to calm them down. Mathew pressed his hand harder to his aching head to try and hold the blood flow, but a few rebel drops found their way down his face.

Mathew took a sweeping view of the room, and let a well deserved groan escape his lips.

The place was a mess yet again. Chairs were on the ground at the robbers hasty escape, a table flipped, the register turned oddly, the bag still on the counter, bills on the ground, and, of course, blood at his feet. Now that was going to be a pain.

After tying a cloth around his head as a super band-aid, Matthew got to work yet again, all the while thinking of the pain he was going to bring Gilbert when he finally got home.

Matthew rolled his eyes at his own imagination as he picked out the mop.

Was he mad at Gilbert for what he did? Yes, definitely. Gilbert knew how much he hated fights, and yet didn't hesitate to put him in the middle of one. Was he going to bring a hockey stick through the mans head? Probably not, as much as he would like it right now. Honestly he couldn't, it just wasn't like him to throw a punch out of anger.

But by god he was going to give him a good talking to.

After cleaning the diner for the second time that day, Matthew tightened the band on his head, making sure no one would be able to see any blood, picked up his bag and finally made his way out into the rain, locking the door behind him with the trusted key.

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_Reviews are always awesome. _


	2. Headache

**WARNING: For all you lovely people who read this story when I first put it up, just skip to Chapter 4. I thought better of the REALLY long first chapter and split it in to three!**

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***Character Key**:

_**Matthew: **__Pancakes_

_**Gilbert: **__Beer_

_**Alfred: **__Hamburgers_

_**Arthur: **__Tea_

_**Jett/Jack: **__Barbie_

_**James: **__You can figure it out_.

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**Soul Mates**

**CHAPTER 2**

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Matthew paced his way up the apartment block stairs with purpose, aiming for the left door on the top floor which would lead to the albino, whom he could bet money on was just watching TV.

The apartment block Matthew has been living in for more than a year was nice, on the outside. White paint made it look modern, and no cracks in the windows made it look clean. On the inside, it was a little bit different. The wood in the railing was dull and split, and the wallpaper was tearing down like a cat had clawed and ripped it, though Matthew couldn't confidently that that wasn't the reason. There were only two redeeming factors; the thick walls, but that didn't count much for the small apartments, and the cheap rent.

The atmosphere was slightly eerie while Matthew hopped up the stairs, seeming to be the only one awake in the cold staircase and halls. That was until he reached the top floor, where another man sat in the hall with his back to the wall, being quite inconspicuous. Matthew didn't even see the man until he spoke up with a friendly tone.

"G'day, Matt." Jett greeted with a large, lazy smile, looking up from the floor. He was right outside the apartment he lived in, just across from Matthew's.

Matthew didn't know much about his neighbour, as the Aussie hadn't lived there long. He just knows Jett came to Canada to see friends and family for a get-together, and needed someone to crash with. Unfortunately, the person he was sharing a place with and himself always seemed to bicker and fight over the smallest things. Matthew would have known more about the brunet before him, but the more heated the conversations with him get, the less Matthew can understand what he's trying to say.

"Oh, hello Jett." Matthew nodded, bringing his key from the lock he was so ready to open. "Umm, what are you doing down there?" Jett flicked his head to the direction of his door.

"The ram kicked me out." He smirked knowingly, showing Matthew he really did do something wrong this time. "I really need to find my own bungalow soon, I'm tempted to just take the swag at this point." He sighed. Matthew could agree. "But enough about me, what's wrong with your 'ead mate?" Matthew unconsciously touched the rag around his head.

"Oh, ahh, just bumped it. Nothing too bad, don't worry." Matthew tried to be the face of healthy, but it came off as a grimace. Jett raised an eyebrow.

"Are ya sure mate? If you need anything, you just let me know, alright?" Jett insisted. Matthew showed a twitchy smile. His head was still hurting.

"Yeah, thank you Jett. Means alot." Jett waved it off with a shake of his head.

"Ahh, no worries here. You know, you're a really nice guy Matt, unlike some people who can't seem to let things go." Jett raised his voice somewhere in that sentence, and directed his head to his door. Not a second later another voice joined the conversation.

"If you're looking to get off easy Jack, you're not going to find sympathy here!" James called, though his voice wasn't heated at all, almost calm.

"But I didn't do anything wrong!" Jett cried with a bit of a whine. "I won fair and square! I didn't cheat!"

"The hell you didn't."

Matthew noticed Jett was still smiling. It was honestly amazing how this argument was still treated as casual and even friendly, though Jett was lying on the floor in the hall. And it was all over a game, as far as Matthew could tell.

"How long are ya gonna to keep me out 'ere? Ya know I can't stand the cold..." Jett whined.

Matthew noted he was no longer apart of the conversation, as per the usual ending, and popped his key in the lock.

When he finally entered his long awaited home, he was hit with loud, German, metal music. Matthew quickly closed the door behind him, and took a sweep of the room with his eyes.

It was just how he had left it, crowded. The first part of the apartment you are thrown in to when arriving is the living room, facing the couch with the chunky TV to your left. To the far left you would find a connecting kitchen and in the middle at the back of them both is the hall to three doors. Random statues and artefacts collected and inherited over the years that were still standing (by some miracle) adorned the high shelves screwed to the faded walls, the few paintings Matthew could squeeze in were mostly of vast landscapes he wished to see in person someday, and of him and his grandmother. The carpet was red and stiff on bare feet, the lining in the kitchen coming apart.

And in the centre of it all, under the brightest light, was Gilbert, totally lost in the overly loud music and using a long broom as his own guitar, with a yellow bird somehow holding on to his pure white, greasy hair. He yelled the lyrics just as loud as the stereo itself as he strutted and danced around as much as the space allowed, but by the looks of a broken glass on the floor he wasn't a careful as Matthew would have liked, but the Canadian expected no less.

Matthew calmly walked to the stereo that was stationed to the side of the couch. Though his body hid it well, his face could not disclose the irritation he was feeling. With one swift motion, as this was not the first time, he unplugged the machine to get if off quickly. Instantly, the music was gone, and Gilbert expectedly threw his head around to the room-mate he didn't realise was back.

"Hey!" Gilbert cried, propping the broom upright. "V'I v'as listening to z'at!" He said, as if that fact wasn't obvious enough. Gilbird seemed to voice his support with a chirp and his own look of disapproval.

Matthew stayed scowling at the side of the green couch.

"Oh, did you pick up z'he bird seed?" Gilbert asked, loosening up quickly. Matthew stiffly reached inside his shoulder bag, his favourite fuzzy white one, before roughly chucking the bag of seed on the couch. It was handy the local pet shop owner liked to keep the store open till late, though it might just be because he sleeps at the front counter all day anyway.

Matthew crossed his arms.

"Awesome!" Gilbert said, letting gravity do most of the work in collapsing him to the seat next to the seed. It was only then did Gilbert suddenly notice there was something new with his angry room mate, and tilted his head to the side. "Hey, Matt, v'at's wrong v'ith your face?"

Matthew lost it.

"I WAS SHOT!" The blond cried, throwing his arms in the air. Though Matthew yelling was roughly the pitch of anyone else taking normally. "I got shot in the head with a gun! And it's all your fault!" Gilbert leaned away a bit.

"Wow, wow, wow," Gilbert slurred, putting up his hands. "How iz z'at my fault?" He asked honestly. Matthew took a heated step closer, jabbing a finger in Gilbert's direction.

"You told me to fight them! And look what they did!" Mathew ripped the rag off of his head, blood all over the right side of his face and in his hair. He quickly put a hand on the wound to stop anymore blood, but it was already clotting.

Gilbert grimaced, "Ouch..."

"You think?!" Matthew fumed.

"V'ait, I thought you z'aid they only had bats..."

"That isn't the point Gilbert!"

The tension in the room and Matthew's quiet rage was as obvious as Gilbert's love for beer. Matthew stared at Gilbert with bright purple eyes behind his slightly askew glasses, creased eyebrows and panting chest not relaxing anytime soon. Gilbert looked up to the blond, still sitting farley relaxed on the couch, with a look that told Matthew he didn't quite get what they were fighting about, yet did.

But the silent staring went on, shining on the fact neither really knew what to say or do, and as it did the panting chest eased just a tad, and Gilberts eyes grew a little restless.

Finally, Gilbert broke the tension. The Prussian diverted his gaze to the ground with a sigh, and patted the seat next to him with a smirk after chucking the packet of seed on the ground.

"Come on, z'it down." Gilbert insisted, "Z'ounds like you've had a rough day." Matthew eyed the seat warily, not sure if taking it would be defeat. After noting how childish that sounded, he realised just how tired he really was.

Slowly lowering his tense stance, Matthew sat heavily next to the demon. He buried his face in hands and let a loud groan escape his dry lips.

"Kesese," Gilbert lightly chucked at the display, putting a hand on Matthew's back.

"Shut up...It's all your fault." Matthew lightly retorted with a murmur through his hands. He failed to shrug Gilbert's hand off the middle of his shoulders. "If you hadn't..."

"V'at? Told you to v'ight back?" Gilbert asked, "V'I don't get the impression z'at z'is would have turned out much differently any other way." Matthew dropped his hands from his face to stare at the floor solemnly, and silently considered the other outcomes.

He could have been bashed with a bat. He could have been beaten with good old fists, too. He was going to be robbed, that was certain, and eventually found still cowering behind the bar. All of these were...not nice. And Matthew realised the diner would have been robbed as well.

"I guess..." Matthew sighed, looking away.

Gilbert's cold hand was suddenly cupping under Matthew's chin, a little roughly, like always, and it forced Matthew to look at the demon. Gilbert then brushed away the stiff with blood hairs from the front of his face, giving Matthew a good view of his just-as-red eyes.

It was kinda creepy.

"Errrrr, Gilbert? What are you doing?" Matthew quietly asked, his normal pitch of voice back, and raised an eyebrow as Gilbert looked from Matthew's left temple to the right.

"V'ell, there's no exit wound." Gilbert started, and showed a weird smile. "Looks like the bullet i'z still in there z'omewhere." He tapped Matthew's forehead with the hand that wasn't keeping him stationary.

"Umm, ok?" Matthew awkwardly answered.

"Gilbird, get z'e tweezers!" Gilbert ordered his pet. The yellow canary chirped in substitute of a solute, and flew down the hall. Matthew paled.

"Wait, t-tweezers?"

"Yeah, v'e need to get it out." Gilbert explained, "But it might hurt a bit." Matthew held Gilbert's wrist and pulled away from the strong hand lightly, slightly scared at how well his roomie was taking this. He was essentially offering to pick a piece of lead out of his brain...

"Ah, c-can't we just leave it?" Matthew offered, trailing the returning bird with his eyes as it placed the tool in it's owner's extended hand.

"Only if you want brain damage." Gilbert chuckled as if it were silly. "Now come on." He wiggled his finger as a sign for Matthew to sit closer, "And don't worry, I'll be gentle." Matthew eyed the broken glass lying on the ground.

"Right..." He had yet to see the 'gentle' side of Gilbert in the demon's eight month long sleep over. Reluctantly, he wiggled over to the albino, letting the wounded side of his head face his...friend.

"Ok, lets do this thing." Gilbert said confidently, again grabbing Matthew's chin for a stable view. He slightly grumbled at the long hairs once again in the way.

Matthew sighed. Just add this to the long list of reasons Gilbert had for him to cut his hair, apart form 'looking like a girl' or 'getting it jammed in a car door'. The latter Matthew would not like to talk about...

"Gilbird!" Gilbert called, and wordlessly ordered for his pet to pull the hairs back. Matthew soon found a small weight on his head and his hair out of his face, instead being in a beak, and his glasses having been put down to the side.

Gilbert put the tool near Matthew's face, and the blond closed his eyes tightly. This was going to hurt like a bitch, he knew it, but it's not like it wasn't throbbing like crazy already.

"Ready?" Gilbert asked, waiting to get an answer for once.

"No..." Matthew squeaked quietly.

"Ok, here it goes." And the albino pushed the metal ford.

Matthew immediately wanted to throbbing back. The second the tweezers poked into the clotted wound, blood awakened again and snacked down his already red face, but the warm oozing didn't bother him as much as the pain that seemed to be alive. It electrocuted him, yet forced him into a tight embrace, and made his shoulders shake, teeth scrape, and fists clench so hard nails dug into his palms.

To Gilbert's credit, he really did try to search gently, unfortunately gently was slow. He had to prod for a while, following the trail the offending bullet had made in it's wake. The demon didn't fail to regrettably notice how much this was hurting Matthew, and frowned with concern. He didn't expect it to hurt him this much, to be honest, or take this long.

"I'm sorry." Gilbert suddenly spoke, and he said it so sincere Matthew opened his eyes. Gilbert never apologised, that was one thing Matthew thought he could count on. Even when teasing, the broken glasses and belongings, taking up the little space Matthew had, the loud music that woke him...he would never apologise. Gilbert always knew what he was doing, and he did it because he wanted to. He never had a reason to apologise in his simple way of reasoning.

"W-What..?" Matthew tried to say threw the grit teeth in his mouth, but it almost came out as a growl. Apparently Gilbert still understood.

"I've taken bullets out before," Gilbert explained, silently glad Matthew couldn't see the look on his face. "But v'I didn't know how much this v'ould hurt a human." Matthew would have scoffed at that if he could.

A human. Ha. If you could even call me that, he thought. What is a man with no soul? He should be dead right now, but no, he's getting a bullet pulled out of his brain not too far from how someone would remove a splinter. Gilbert had once explained the reason he can't die, something about no soul for reapers to reap, but Matthew still didn't quite get it. In contrast of how loud and obnoxious he is, Gilbert can be very closed about some things.

But death wasn't the only thing Matthew couldn't have. Dreams, and the feeling of love are just two, and he secretly longed for both so dearly. He would never tell Gilbert this, of cores, about the drive to get his soul back. The main reason being that he's the demon that has it, and Matthew didn't know for sure how he would react.

Yes, he wanted it, and his soul was so close. Right next to him on the same couch, in the very same room. Gilbert must have it with him somewhere, he had to. But Matthew could never reach it. It was a deal that separated them, after all, and it said nothing about getting the payment back. What the contract did say, however, was the reason the little stunt at the diner was possible. Matthew has to do anything Gilberts asks of him when he uses that tone no one else can hear...

"Here, hold my tail." Gilbert suddenly ordered, bringing Matthew out of his mussing and back to the pain, now in his head and on his hands. His nails were digging too far. With the instruction, Matthew felt a smooth, leather surface brush his fingers, one that he couldn't see.

Matthew willed himself to take the tail, one he imagined would be black, in his gasp. It was an amusing event when Matthew found out Gilbert had an invisible tail always hanging around, for Gilbert that is.

The new tool to grip helped alot more than Matthew thought it would, the cool skin soothing on the heated hands that were starting to sweat.

_Pleas, just get it out damn it! I don't care if you're gentle anymore_! But Matthew could not voice these thoughts.

"I've got it!" Gilbert suddenly cried proudly, and much to Matthews relief. No sooner Gilbert brought both objects out of Matthew's head, finally. Matthew didn't know it was possible to both hold your breath and pant in pain at the same time, but he manege it somehow.

The crusty strands of hair were back in his face as he leaned back in his couch, and the weight on his head returned to Gilbert's own. Matthew brought a hand to the wound for the millionth time that day to stop the blood flow, and stared at the ceiling as he gained control of his breath once again.

Gilbert suddenly slapped a friendly hand on Matthew's thigh with a grin, making the blond jump.

"See? Z'at v'asn't so bad." Gilbert said, the blood covered tweezers and squished bullet still in his hands. It looked quite scary in contrast to the cocky grin on his face.

"Like hell." Matthew retorted quietly, brushing Gilbert's hand away form his leg with his spare hand, the one he hadn't noticed was still hanging on to the man's tail. "I was considering the brain damage."

"Keseses," Gilbert again laughed, like it was a joke. He might have thought it was, the dense demon...

Gilbert got up from the couch.

"You v'ait here, I'll get you z'ome bandages v'or your face." He offered kindly, and Matthew showed a bit of a smile at the gesture, until Gilbert went on, "Oh, and z'e wound too." Gilbert seemed to find this joke funny all the way to the bathroom, as Matthew could still hear his weird laugh from around the corner.

They didn't talk much as Gilbert rapped the bandages around Matthews head, apart from Matthew wondering out loud how the hell he was supposed to get all the blood out of his hair when it was under the cloth, to which Gilbert suggested cutting it off. He got a light wack to the shoulder for that. Matthew didn't want Gilbert to wrap the wound, he said he could do it himself, but Gilbert insisted that he could do it way better. There may have even been an 'awesome' somewhere in that conversation.

So, as Gilbert concentrated on finishing up the dressing, Matthew sat quiet and still. Nothing unusual about that. But a strange thought sparked a question he had to voice.

"Did you worry?" Matthew asked as Gilbert clipped the cloth.

"V'at?" Gilbert questioned, plopping next to Matthew again. He had been standing when rapping Matthew's head.

"About me, after you hung up, did you worry?" Matthew explained his random question, and Gilbert noted he was a little quieter than usual. Matthew waited for an answer, but didn't have to wait long for Gilbert to suddenly get up form his seat with an awkward smile.

"Oh, v'ell, look at z'e time!" He suddenly exclaimed, checking his watch-less wrist. "No v'onder I'm so tired. Good night!" And with that he power-walked down the hall to his bedroom, well, the only bedroom, leaving Matthew to his own inner fuming at the shear rudeness.

As Matthew got ready for bed (It was already after 12:00. Oh how time fly's when your getting a bullet out of your brain) after a long, irritating, shower, he reasoned that maybe Gilbert had that response to the question because he found it hard to talk about that sort of thing. He had heard that was quite a common trait.

He snuggled down in the couch under the big, thick quilt his grandmother had graciously hand-made him years ago.

Really, Gilbert didn't want to tell Mathew that he completely forgot about the call after he had hung up.

"Oh, Mattie?" Gilbert poked his head around the corner with a smile. "You need to chuck thoze security cameras out before work tomorrow too." The tone again painted the back of Matthew's mind.

* * *

The next day, or earlier that morning as it were, Matthew did just that and ripped all the cameras out of the diner early, chucking them in the big dumpster around the corner. Lovino didn't care too much about security, or just didn't want to bother, so the cameras were just, yeah, cameras, stuck to the roof. But hey, Matthew surly wasn't complaining.

And this, my dear readers, was the butterfly's flap of it's wings.

* * *

_Hope you r'ikey._


	3. Demon Hunting

**_*_****_Character key_****_:_**

**_Matthew_****_: _**_Moose__  
_

**_Gilbert:_******_Bird__  
_

**_Alfred_****_: _**_Bison__  
_

**_Arthur_****_: _**_Fox__  
_

* * *

**_Soul Mates_**

**_CHAPTER 3_**

* * *

**_One Month Later_**

The old alleyway was dusty, and the particles between the walls had absolutely no sense of a personal bubble. Every time Alfred breathed in he was forced to choke on the tickle in the back of his throat. Breathing through his nose wasn't a shining resolution either, the dumpster next to him made sure work of that.

The Brit leaning just out of the alley seemed to take no notice, or was making a point not to. Maybe he just had more comfortable air as he noticeably stuck his head around the corner, trying to be inconspicuous. He never really was good at that.

Alfred was getting quite annoyed, if he had to be honest, and he didn't get annoyed easily. He predicts the feeling started on their way here, when his beloved motor-bike found it didn't have enough fuel, so it died. On the bright-side, it wasn't too far of a walk to where they needed to be, but it felt long enough with tooth-picks-for-legs to his right. They had to come to this tiny town in Canada for a heroic duty, but all they have done for a good portion of the day is walk around all 'stealth-mode'. Arthur really didn't know much about being a good side-kick, he was totally weighing him down at the moment.

Fine days, Sundays. The sun shone high in the afternoon, though clouds loomed low, offering moving shade. Alfred and Arthur found the cafes were open for all to enjoy, if you had the money, and the local pet store was always fun to brows and buy, if you had the patience. Locals and plain wonderers were in the streets, many pacing just out-side of the alleyway, winding around one-another with not much of a glance, but few were without bright eyes on this lovely day.

"_Dude_, I'm so _boooooreed_..." Alfred groaned out between the two walls as he lowered himself to the ground with his back to the old, shaded, red brick that was kind enough to support him.

"I heard you the _first _time, Alfred." Arthur replied. He tried to be calm, but the growl of annoyance couldn't be missed.

Seems both of the duo were not in the best of moods, the gorgeous sun's raise doing very little to lighten that fact.

Arthur stayed standing straight, quite a feat if you considered all the walking the two had just endured, "I never said stake-out would be fun," He said, taking a mental note to pack a gaming devise of some sort if they ever did this again.

"Didn't you used to do this for a job or something?" Alfred curiously questioned, reaching at the distant memory of a conversation long ago. Honestly, it didn't bother him as to what Arthur use to do, but a conversation could put a stop to his boredom. "Is that why you're boring too?"

"This among other things, you git. And I'm not boring. You just don't hold the brain capacity to entertain yourself for long."

"For long?!" Alfred gasped at the accusation. "We have been staking this town out for hours!" He cried, throwing his arms up to the sky in an attempt to emphasise his pain. He quickly pulled them back down when a new grumble, one of his tummy, could be heard. "And I'm starting to get kinda hungry..."

"Of corse you are..." Arthur sighed, failing to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. They had just left a cafe, but of corse that wasn't enough for the black-hole sitting to this left. Well, to be fair, they couldn't really afford much with the tight budget they have inevitably found themselves in. Arthur never said being broke would be fun, either.

"You _sure_ we've got the right place?"

Arthur's eyebrows creased, and he turned his head down to look at the younger man.

"Of course we're in the right place." Arthur said, his tone offended. "Honestly Alfred, what do you take me for?" The Brit lightly knocked his knuckles on the wall behind him in an aim to prove his point. "This is the same Italian diner from the video camera, which was quite a feat to find on my part mind you, so now all we have to do is track the damned thing and send it back from where it came."

"You mean kick his ass to the moon!" Alfred clarified for himself, punching a fist to his palm with a face that meant it. "This demon wont know what hit him!" He stated excitedly and a smile of anticipation jumped his features. His friend inwardly smirked at the enthusiasm shown, but was outwardly somewhat worried.

"Right, but, Alfred, are you sure it's a demon?" Arthur questioned, his voice picking from the worry in his face. He is embarrassed to know this wouldn't be the first time Alfred got something like this wrong.

"Of corse I'm sure!" Alfred defended, his turn to prove his claim boldly. "I can't think of anything else it could be!" Well, that was a reason good enough as any to him.

Alfred finally jumped back to his feet, deciding for himself that his short break was over. His jeans and well-loved bomber jacket were now wearing a light coating of that cursed dust.

"Right, right." Arthur physically waved off, "You are the expert out of the two of us I guess." Arthur had yet to decide if he should be afraid of that fact, or terrified.

A slight breeze swept the streets, taking the conversation further down the alley. With a pause in the duo's talking, Arthur took the time to quietly snoop around the corner again, poking his head out to look around the busy diner entrance for their desired target. No such luck, yet.

"Ok, so here's the plan." Arthur started, turning back to Alfred after one last unsatisfied gaze of the crowed. He held Alfred in place with a firm hand on the shoulder when Alfred made a move to take a look out as well.

"Listen," Arthur ordered, and waited for blue eyes on him before he continued, "When it walks past I'll grab it and push it to the wall, it should be surprised enough for you to douse it with this," Arthur put a hand to the breast pocket of his green shirt and pulled out a polished metal flask.

"Yo dude, is that what I think it is?" Alfred smiled, snatching the flask from the other's already loos hand. Arthur just knew he was going to do that.

"Yes, Holy Water." Arthur nodded shortly, and held his head high. "I made it myself this time." He explained with slight pride. Alfred replied with a slap on the shoulder, forcing Arthur to stand a little shorter once again, and a short but loud laugh.

"Hey, that's awesome dude! You're really learning fast from being my side-kick, am I right?" Alfred somewhat praised.

"Stop saying that, Alfred!" Arthur fumed, roughly shrugging the strong hand from his shoulder. "I'm not your 'side-kick', I'm your partner. We've gone through this." He crossed his arms in authority, not that Alfred would notice the act as such.

"Whatever man." Alfred carelessly waved off, "But hey, here's the real plan." The young adult this time slammed a gloved hand on each of Arthur's shoulders, making the already irritated man stand to attention. "I'm going to grab him and pin him to the wall, then cover him with that Holy juice, then say the Latin mumbo-jumbo, and BAM, he's gone! BUAHAH!" Alfred finished with what could only be described as manic laughter.

"W-what? Then what the hell do I do you wanker?!"

"You're there to back me up if anything goes weird! Don't want my side-kick getting hurt!"

"I just said- oh, forget it." Arthur took it upon himself to direct Alfred to the edge of the alley with a push, and snatched the flask back to safety as he did. "Fine, _here's_ the plan. _You_ grab and pin, _I_ douse, and we can _both_ exercise it. That way we at least have more of a chance getting the bloody speech right."

Alfred didn't try to hide the confused tilt of his head, probably wondering why his amazing and fool-proof plan was cast away, or the worry downing his face.

"I don't know man..."

Arthur grumbled as he all but moulded Alfred like a wax doll to look around the corner. Alfred now had his back facing Arthur, and his side pushed to the wall for enhanced stealth.

"Just look for it, you idiot. Remember, it's taking a form that has fairly long, blonde hair and glasses." He reminded, as he knew he needed to, and pressed his own back to the rough red wall so he too was well out of sight. "Just tell me if you think you see it and we can go from there." He hushed his voice this time, as if the target was at risk of over-hearing. Maybe he should have thought of that before all the yelling.

Time went by as slowly as the mental ticks in Arthur's head, but he didn't bother to count the seconds. They had already stalked the town for 'Hours', as Alfred had needlessly clarified, and had found no sign of the being they wished to 'kill', so there was no doubt in Arthur's mind that this could take a while. Counting would just make him more depressed.

Many humans walked past the gap the two hunters were stationed, but none to the profile they were looking out for cared to grace their presence. Alfred, to his credit, actually stayed positioned as Arthur had instructed, and he was much better at being unnoticed than his older friend. His head was just peeking from the wall, a nose, some hair and a fraction of rectangle glasses would only be visible to those who were looking out for him.

Alfred had been hunting and exercising for as far back as his childhood memory aloud him to recall. He had learnt how to fight all sorts of strange and wonderful creatures, and make things such as holy water or find out about the weakening affects of salt and iron, but hiding had come quite naturally to him in this line of work.

Maybe moving around again would prove more fruitful, Alfred numbly wondered. He hated just sitting around, with no action what so ever to be seen in the near future-

Blonde hair bobbed from the top of the crowd.

Alfred's eyes squinted to slits, and he moved just a fraction to see a little better down the street, past the promoting signs of the Vargas diner.

Downcast glasses peeked through all other shifting faces.

Alfred didn't speak upon realisation, he didn't make a sound of any sort. What he did do was slowly raise the hand closest to the unaware and still awaiting Arthur, and propped up one finger.

_'Wait for it'_ It whispered, and Arthur understood quickly and clearly, if with slight surprise.

Arthur positioned himself further back, and as silent and carful as a stalking cat de-lidded the flask to his side with a face of concentration. He almost matched Alfred's features, who was slowly taking a stance of one ready to attack. Three gloved fingers were now raised.

_'On my count_.' They singed.

The target and supposed demon was making it's way closer at a slow and controlled pace (much to Alfred's slight agitation), one that mimicked the light crowd around it. It was just one block away, and it's face seemed to find the cracks and shadows on the pale grey concrete very interesting. It was oblivious to what was to come.

Alfred couldn't stop the smile of anticipation curving his lips as he lowered his index finger.

Half a block now, and Alfred's legs twitched. His irises didn't leave the bundle of slightly curly, blond hair that was long enough to cover the owner's ears. The demon, taking the form of a tall, slim man, had his hands relaxed in his red jumper pockets. Alfred decided then he would grab a slim elbow to effectively pull it in.

Another finger was lowered, a bit quicker then the last.

He couldn't get too exited, the back of his mind warned, he had to treat this like any other job and focus all of his attention span on getting rid of the supernatural disturbance, and anything could happen. Oh, who was he kidding? He was always simply _ecstatic_ on the job.

Another pace, and another step further. So close. It was only a brick away, and...

_NOW_!

It was in a matter of seconds, but precise ones mind you. Alfred's arm jumped from the secrecies of the alleyway line, and his hand fiercely rapped around his awaited prey's arm, and then he pulled.

The prey's back hit harshly against the wall so quickly he barely managed an auditable yelp.

Arthur was ready long before the last finger was down and away, the flask was prepared to empty the minuet the cap was off, and the Holy Water inside was anticipated to burn the day it was made.

These facts made drenching the accused devil swift and look easy, those facts and the reality that it really was an easy task to handle. But Arthur's slight battle cry and dramatic thrust of the liquid gave the illusion the job needed something more than a good hand and gravity.

The distorted and very confused stranger was quickly drenched on the face and shoulders, and even spat some out with a choked and immensely shocked gasp. Though he tried, he couldn't bend and get more air in as two strong hands on his shoulders quickly rendered moving from the wall near impossible.

Finally, their target was found and secure with little to no dramas, which was quite the pleasant surprise to Arthur. But he spared no time relishing in the odd occurrence, as Alfred had already begun to chant.

"Exorcizamus de, omnus immundus spiritus, omnus satanic poteztas!" Alfred shouted, almost right in the trapped being's face. It would sound like nothing to anyone, but Arthur, who had resited the spell a long time ago, could tell you that Alfred was saying the 'Latin mumbo-jumbo' a little bit...wrong.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis," Arthur correctly chanted quieter than the other, like a respectable and professional gentleman should, but still got a little closer than need be to the now stuttering and shaking blond. The demon should be gone soon, and the shaking might just be a sign of that.

Arthur was almost afraid he couldn't be heard over Alfred as the speech went on, until a new voice joined the choir.

"P-Pleas s-stop.." The violet eyed man squeaked, his pale face covered by drenched hair and dripping, downcast glasses. He was caving in on himself, as if trying to become smaller. Alfred's voice slowly died down to silence upon realising the man he held had spoken up, Arthur soon followed suite.

The plan was to exorcise a demon, that was the heroic mission the two hunters had come cross-country for. Track, catch, injure, kill. It was simple, really. But the Holy Water did not burn the blonde's skin, the spell did nothing to injure, irritate, nor get rid of the threat as its intended purpose, and the 'demon' didn't even fight back.

It was supposed to be simple, but the two were left thoroughly confused.

"What the heck?" Alfred sounded what Arthur was regretfully thinking himself, and felt confident, or confused, enough to move one hand away to idly scratch his head. "Why isn't anything working?"

"..I don't know." Was all Arthur could think to contribute at the moment.

The stranger to Alfred and Arthur shifted in understandable discomfort at the gazes and the grip still attached to his shoulder, both gluing him to the wall. His glasses were now askew, no doubt making it harder to see.

"Dude," Alfred was the one to brake the silence, "You made the Holy Water wrong, didn't you?"

Arthur's grip on his beloved flask instantly doubled.

"What?!" He cried, and snapped his head to face the accusing Alfred. The day's frustrations were now getting the best of him. "Don't you go blaming me, you bloody tool, you're the one who's shouting the pronunciation wrong!"

"Hey! My pronun-...p-pronunci-" Alfred rubbed the back of his neck and shifted awkwardly as he struggled.

"Pronunciation." Arthur dead-panned.

"Yeah, that!" Alfred cried, and shot a finger to Arthurs chest. "It was just fine!"

"U-Um-" The two missed the uncertainly quiet stutter.

"Like hell it was," Arthur scoffed, "You know, you most likely got the creature wrong, again! I really can't trust you to think of anything straight when there's a burger in the same room, can I?!"

"Is that a fat joke?!"

"H-Hey!"

The wet man jumped the argument at the right time it seems, as the gap in the heated conversation strengthened his short and needy shout. Both sets of eyes were suddenly back on top of him, that is when the men finally registered where the quite voice had come from. The blond slightly shifted awkwardly and at least tried to use his words once again.

"I-I don't k-know-" Well, he did try, but the sudden grip to his chin shut him up pretty fast. Frightened violet eyes were forced to lock pricing blue.

"What are you?" Alfred ordered the answer with just his tone, and the prisoner couldn't help but feel there was a slight threat in the question. Alfred shook the blonde's head. "Come on, spit it out! What are you?"

"Ah! H-Human! Human! I'm a human!" The blonde insisted hastily, but Alfred was having none of it.

"Don't lie to me!" Alfred warned, "We know you're not! No _human_ survives a bullet to the head like you did!" Alfred pressed, and he suddenly felt the being tense under his grip, and the violet eyes noticeably grew wider.

"H-How do you...?" The blonde breathed, and didn't bother to finish the sentence.

"That's for me to know," Alfred answered, and slightly nudged his head to his 'side-kick'. "Arthur, check his temples. There might be a scar or...something."

Arthur, who had been standing in silent observation, stepped closer with a grumbled, "You don't have to order me, git," but did as his younger partner asked of him anyway. The blonde flinched as Arthur carefully pulled strands of hair back and away from the right side of his head, but couldn't do anything else.

Honestly, you wouldn't be able to see it if you weren't looking hard. Everything about the stranger's slightly round yet matured head was normal enough, but on his temple, Arthur found, was a tiny battle scar, round with wrinkles of the newly lapped skin. Arthur brushed over it slightly, and the blond flinched further.

"P-Pleas don't, i-it hasn't been he-healed for too long..."

"Ha! So there _is_ a wound!" Alfred shouted in triumph of his imagined victory, "Are you going to tell us the truth now?" He shook the head in his hand again, making half the glasses fall off an ear.

"Ah! Wait! W-Wait, I am a human! I sware!" The blonde almost pleaded, "I-I can explain!" He cried. The shaking of his head stopped.

The hunters shared a slow glance, with it a silent exchange before a curt yet slightly hesitant nod was displayed.

"All right then," Arthur spoke up, and leaned over with a sceptical look. "Try us." He challenged.

"Yeah, just how can a human walk away with a bullet in his brain? I would really like to know." Though it might of sounded like it to the trapped man, the question wasn't sarcasm at all. Alfred thought any explanation to that bazaar question would be an awesome one, and he displayed that thought with a genuine smile.

The young adult nervously looked around and shifted as much as he was allowed. He ringed his fingers together, and looked from the dusty ground to the far, crusty wall, and jumped between gazing at the two men before him, least he stare to long at either one. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was finding this forced predicament hard, and that was proven when Alfred brought his hand away from the stressed blonde's chin, letting it become easier to speak and to listen, putting it back on his shoulder.

Alfred was still smiling, and Arthur was still sceptical when he finally spoke up.

"I-I..." The blonde struggled, and his eyes were jumping once again. "You s-see.."

Alfred couldn't understand what was taking so long, but he gave a reassuring squeeze to a shoulder anyway, feeling he needed to in this strange turn of events.

The blonde took a deep breath, and slightly lowered his head.

"I don't have a soul, that's why. A demon took it years ago."

* * *

_Aaaand we are back to the start! Yay~? Reviews will be laminated. _


	4. Help Me?

_This took way too long..._

* * *

**_*_****_Character key_****_:_**

**_Matthew_****_: _**_Niagara falls__  
_

**_Gilbert_****_: _**_Berlin Cathedral__  
_

**_Alfred_****_:_**_ Lady Liberty__  
_

**_Arthur_****_: _**_Big Ben__  
_

* * *

**Soul Mates**

**CHAPTER 4:**

* * *

The staring went on for a while, a little too long perhaps. Arthur had raised an eyebrow as soon as the statement was heard as coherent words instead of a mumble, and he still found himself wondering if he in fact hard right at all.

Alfred's small smile of reassurance had tilted downwards, mainly in honest confusion.

Both reactions were much to the blonde's worry, whom still had his head slightly bowed, but could obviously see the faces still towering him just past his annoyingly wet glasses.

Alfred, again but not to Arthur's surprise, made the first move. He steadily lifted one hand off of the man in custody and questioning, making the blonde flinch on instinct and fear, but Alfred only used the appendage to idly scratch his head through his greasy hair.

"Your soul?" Alfred finally asked, relaxing his other hand as well. He _did_ hear right, right?

Arthur must have thought the question was for him.

"The power that's inside everyone, you git." Arthur sighed, using the biting remark as some sort of personal get away as he tried to reason with the logic he was just presented with, and he straightened back up.

The confusion in the air never wavered, but the start of a conversation at least lightened the uncomfortable silence for all three.

"I know what it is!" Alfred snapped, a little put off at how little his intelligence was measured. Who wouldn't know what a soul is? It's only the most valuably possession a human is born with. The power is immeasurable!...Though that might be because it has never been measured before in recorded history, but Alfred could guess it was one hell of a battery, and trophy.

And this guy didn't have one?

"Wait, does that mean he's hollow?" Much to the others confusion, Alfred then knocked the back of his knuckles lightly on the blonde's head as if expecting a sound.

"N-No." The violated man mumbled the answer, and moved his head sideways from the touch. He was still pinned.

"Alfred, back up a second." Arthur suddenly ordered, choosing to ignore his partners antics for now and not comment on it for once, and took a step further ford to direct his attention back to this ever confusing man. "So, let me just get this straight; you're a human," He looked for confirmation, to which the blonde hastily nodded his damp head and hair multiple times.

"Y-Yes, that's what I've be-"

"But you can survive a lethal hit, even walk away from one, because you have no...soul?" Arthur inquired. He sounded almost unimpressed, but in reality he was quite undoubtedly the opposite, as well as marginally relived with the answer he was given. In truth, he wasn't as keen as Alfred to go against a _demon_.

The blonde's gazed shifted down a tad once again, "Ahh, y-yeah. That's right."

It was obvious even to Alfred that this was a touchy topic, so he swiftly moved both of his hands off of the 'now human', much to the blonde's slight surprise and relief as he was finally allowed to slump from the wall in better and much needed comfort, only for Alfred to slap a now friendly hand on his back with a hearty laugh.

"Hey, so you're a human, that's great dude!" Alfred almost cheered, a little over enthusiastic in Arthur's opinion. "So, you can't die? Sweet! Can you feel this?" He suddenly dug a hard pinch to the side of the blonde's upper arm.

"OUCH!" The man loudly cried, slightly high pitched from the shock of the action, and quickly swatted the offending hand away with a sharp scowl of his almost purple eyes. "I can still feel!" He said, "I just said I can't die!"

Arthur didn't hide the amused smirk playing his features as he watched the display, and Alfred raised his hands in slight defence at the outburst.

"Wow, ok man, don't need to freak dude."

Arthur, now finding the air thin enough to gentlemanly assist the man he and Alfred now realised they had attacked with no reason, carefully took the glasses off of the blonde's nose to wipe and dry kindly in his already prepared hanky.

"Well, I must say I am extremely sorry for the confusion, on both our parts." He spoke passively yet a little agitated as he wiped the glass, and then looked to Alfred to silently tell his partner to confirm ownership of his wrongs as well. Alfred nodded his head quickly.

"Yeah dude, sorry for the whole pinning you to the wall thing." Alfred lightly chuckled, as if the event was already a moment in the past to look back on for laughs.

The blonde didn't think so little of the last event, as he displayed with another scowl at the offending laugh.

"But you can't blame us!" Alfred continued, "_Anyone_ who saw _anyone_ survive a bullet in the melon would jump to conclusions!" Alfred noticeably defended himself quicker than he apologised, and Arthur lightly shook his head.

The man's scowl lowered lightly at the abruption of defensive words, and his face turned to what Arthur found to be confusion and concern.

"U-Um, about that, how do you-" The blonde's immune-system cut him off this time, and he was suddenly reduced to a coughing fit. Dust had silently made its comfort in his throat when he was quite unaware.

Arthur's hand was quickly patting the stranger's back to help when the man bent over ford, and the blonde become a little embarrassed at the weak display he was putting on.

"I don't think here is the best place to have a conversation." Arthur stated, his undertone inquiring a suggestion Alfred didn't pick up on. Arthur handed the recovering man's now dry glasses back as he composed himself enough to stand.

"T-Thanks." He awkwardly said, putting his glasses back where they belonged.

"Do you know a place we could maybe have a chat?" Arthur asked with a polite wave of his hand to the direction of the exit of the alley.

The man bowed his head in thought at the question, and understandably so. Arthur and Alfred had just ambushed the blonde, and it would be a bit of a surprise to Arthur if he chose to just go and have bloody tea with them after such a shock. But he had questions for this strange man, and by the sounds of his sentence he had tried to usher out before he nearly choked to death was anything to go by, this man had questions for them too.

"I, ah, know a good cafe type place a few blocks from here?" It came out as more of a question than a statement or suggestion, but Arthur and Alfred were very pleased with the answer nevertheless.

"Right, brilliant idea. Care to lead the way?"

The walk to the cafe was very slow, and filled with what Matthew could only find to be awkward silence. But maybe that was just him.

He mostly spent the trip across the side walks and roads with his gaze either dodging the cracks in the concrete or shifting to possible escape-roots. His attackers were either a few steps back or right on his heals throughout the march he had found himself to be leading, and he somehow forced himself to continue with now steady breathing.

As he trekked the town he knew like the inside of his glasses, he entertained the idea to leave upon finding the cafe. Maybe he could use the old 'bathroom' trick if he found this to be too...much. The duo behind where not safe, his mind continued to state wirily and obviously, but the curiosity and questions racking his brain where enough to push him through the double doors of the lightly crowded cafe, and even hold them open for his followers to walk past. One nodded in thanks curtly, the other pushed through with a supposedly exited smile. That one was the one that worried him the most.

The cafe was warm, warmer than the outside breeze by far, but Matthew didn't feel very comfortable as he sat on a squishy, red booth seat inside the nice and cosy complex. The two men and strangers were now just to the other side of the table, the table being the only thing separating them aside the hot tea cup and the few already empty plates sprawled atop to shiny surface. Matthew himself had quickly ordered a stack of hot pancakes in a light attempt of distraction more than hunger. It didn't work too well.

He slowly tapped his knees in slight anxiety as he forced himself to keep looking at the two strange men in front of him. His shoulder still hurt with a bruise as consequence of the earlier man-handling.

It would have been more relaxing if he wasn't watching one American shove an entire donut in his mouth, as if trying to prove to anyone and everyone that he didn't need teeth.

The Brit with the shortest hair, yet the biggest eyebrows (Was he born with those? Poor guy..), was sitting closest to the window and sipped his tea lightly, but scowled as much as Matthew was wincing at the other over to brim of his cup.

He wanted to start a conversation, he really did, but he was at a loss of how to start. He found his eyes darting to the toilet doors, and his mind's attempts to present the nice yet forceful conversation starter he was looking for were quite futile. He has never had to try such a thing before. How do you start a healthily conversing given how they had met?

Well, he guessed he would just have to try._ Anything_ to get the answers he wanted. So he took in a slight, quick breath, and reassuring words egged him on in his head as he looked at the two men.

"Ah," He sounded, getting the full attention of the Brit. Maybe he was thinking the same thing as Matthew was. "M-my...name is...Matthew..." He awkwardly and quite lamely stated, diverting his gaze to the empty and disregarded plates in front of the man still stuffing his face.

He could have kicked himself for that, and he did, in his head. Really? His _name_? _That_ was the best he could do? But it seemed to do the trick, to Matthew's surprise, as the Brit in front of him put his cup back to its plate.

"Ah, yes, we haven't introduced ourselves have we? How rude of me." He spoke as such a gentleman Matthew could have forgotten how they had met with a show of brut force, and he had to blink in confusion at the words.

He quickly gestured to himself, "I am Arthur, Arthur Kirkland." He then idly waved he hand to his left. "And this is Alfred Jones. I'm sure you have already figured out he is quite the character."

Alfred, Matthew now knew, smiled at his introduction with stuffed cheeks before he swallowed it whole. He then quite forcefully jumped up in his seat with a wide grin.

"And we're exorcists!" Alfred loudly added in Matthew's face. Matthew leaned back in his seat, suddenly finding he was practically fussing with the cushioning.

"Oh? E-Exorcists?" Matthew asked as Alfred returned his back to his seat from leaning over the table, "So, ah, you were trying to exorcise...me back there?"

Arthur slowly nodded, looking to his cup.

"Y-Yes, we were, and we are terribly sorry about the mix-up." Arthur said sincerely with a stir of his tea. "We obviously didn't want to hurt anyone-"

"Yeah, we help people!" Alfred jumped in with his hands back on the table, making Matthew flinch once again. "That's what we do! If anyone has problem with the supernatural then they come to us! Anytime, anywhere!"

"Well, within reason." Arthur corrected with a mumble and another sip of his cup. "And the term 'Exorcists' is a more formal way of putting it…"

"Wow," Was the second brilliant thing Matthew came up with to say, but he honestly couldn't think of much else to voice his surprise and aw. These guys weren't thugs or delusional at all. By the sounds of it, they were like heroes. He loosely wondered how well-know they were for their work, and how many people they have saved with the unique skills they possess.

_I wonder if…_

Could they…help _him_? They said they do this all the time, right? What would be one more? His soul should be a simple enough request. If these guys were experts, maybe they already knew how to get a soul back from a demon.

Matthew's thought become excited, very excited. Years, upon _years_ of wanting to be able to even dream of having his soul back within him….and under these crazy circumstances, the two men right in front of him might be able to grant him his wish.

"So," Matthew started, more confident than before but still nervous as to what he was leading up to asking. "You help people with problems of any kind involving the…supernatural?"

"Ye-"

"Hell yeah we do!"

"Would you stop interrupting me?!" Arthur cried.

Matthew realised he didn't know what relationship these two had, but with all the bickering and fighting he had witnessed in this short time, he would have to guess that they either hate each other or were together.

"Yes." Arthur answered himself with a grumbled sigh, just as a waiter placed Matthew's pancakes on the table, to witch Matthew took no notice. "We get rid of ghosts most of the time, but we will get to the bottom of any case someone comes forth with."

That was what he wanted to hear.

"Can you help me then?" Matthew blurted quicker than he would have liked. He sounded almost desperate now, damn it.

"What? You got some trouble with monsters, and then of cause we can help!" Alfred answered incredibly enthusiastically, jumping up in his seat once again. He was beginning to remind Matthew of a jack-in-a-box.

Matthew didn't think he could refer to Gilbert as a 'monster', but some trouble? Yeah, a little bit.

Arthur quickly put a hand on Alfred's shoulder to calm him down.

"Hold on Alfred," Arthur warned, "Remember, we find out the case, and _then_ you can jump around like an idiot." Surprisingly, that got Alfred back in his seat safely, but the grin was still in place.

"So, what do ya need, dude?" Alfred asked, shinning with interest. Matthew was gripping his jeans in nervousness now.

_There is nothing to worry about_, his mind eased, _They practically said that they would help already_. But Matthew still had his unreasonable doubts. He had a fear of being rejected, of being cast aside. A therapist once said the reason and root of this fear might be his father leaving all those years ago.

These two may be his only hope, but that didn't mean they wanted to be.

Matthew fiddled with the cutlery of the pancakes he just now noticed were there.

Well, if Alfred and Arthur were his only hope, than this was his only chance.

"I want my soul." Matthew finally answered, and it was with the forcefulness he wanted for once. It came out determined, like how he felt about the matter, and he snapped his gaze from the table back to the men before him. He waited for a response, and he hoped for a yes.

Arthur didn't make a move to say anything, and he surprisingly didn't even look up from his tea. Alfred was a lot quicker to react, and he looked as keen as ever when the words left Matthew's mouth.

"You mean the one you lost? To a demon you said, right?" Alfred interrogated.

Matthew's worries were pretty much diminished at the sight of Alfred's ecstatic posture and questions. He wouldn't be so happy if it wasn't to help, right?

"W-Well, I guess 'lost' is the wrong word…" Matthew steadily answered, "It was kind of…sold, you know, like a deal type thing?" He staggered over the explanation hoping Alfred would at least know what he was talking about. And he hopefully knew a lot more about the deals than Matthew did himself.

"You mean a contract?" It was Arthur who finally spoke up. Good, he was starting to worry Matthew. But his voice was sceptical, not giving much reassurance.

Matthew nodded, but Arthur was still looking at his cooling cup.

"Yeah, a contract." That was the word he had been looking for, the word Gilbert had used to explain it to him eight months ago. Alfred brightened at Arthur being familiar with the problem.

"You know about it? Awesome! Than of course we can he-"

"No." The answer was firm, unwavering when it dropped from Arthur's stern lips so suddenly. Matthew froze at the statement, and Alfred frowned and turned to his friend in confusion.

"What?"

"I said, no." Arthur repeated, finally looking to the others at the table. He had a just as stern look. "We can't do this one, I won't."

To say Matthew's resolve and hope was shattered would be an understatement.

"W-What? But why? You said that you-"

"Maybe I should rephrase what we do, hmm?" Arthur said, almost mockingly. His hands were placed flat on the table and he leaned in as if Matthew needed help to hear.

Matthew thought it best to lean further away though, as the stern face had only gotten deeper.

"We help people who are in a bit of a bind with the supernatural, people who _had no control over it_. People who didn't _deserve_ a pestering ghost or perhaps a curse cast upon them-"

"Wait, are you saying I _wanted_ to get my soul taken away?!" Matthew exclaimed, appalled at where Arthur's little speech was going. Arthur leaned back in his seat with a snort.

"You said so yourself. It wasn't taken, it was sold. That is the biggest difference you could make." Arthur explained, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. "You made a contract with a demon, didn't you? You wanted something so bad you sought it out with the devil himself. If you _sold_ your soul, which you obviously have, that means you _had control_ over this conclusion." He leaned in as close as he was before. "And we don't help people who _deserve_ it."

Matthew shrunk under the tone.

"We don't help people who have paved their own damnation."

* * *

_Wow, things heating up. Calm down Artie..._

_If anyone is wondering why Matthew has only known Gilbert for eight months but has not had his soul for years, well, I will address why next chapter! So, yeah...be there..._


End file.
